The Forest Lovers | Page 4

dozen painful
miles, floundered out as best he might, and by evening was making
good pace over a rolling bit of moorland through which ran a sandy
road. It was the highway from Wanmouth to Market Basing and the
north, if he had known. Ahead of him a solitary wayfarer, a brown
bunch of a friar, from whose hood rose a thin neck and a shag of black
hair round his tonsure--like storm-clouds gathering about a full moon
--struck manfully forward on a pair of bare feet.
"God be with you, brother gentleman," cried the friar, turning a crab-
apple face upwards.
"And with you, my brother, who carry your slippers," Prosper replied.
"Eh, eh, brother! They go softer than steel for a gouty toe."
"Poor gout, Master Friar, I hope, for Saint Francis' peace of mind."
"My gentleman," said the friar, "let me tell you the truth. I am a poor
devil out of Lucca, built for matrimony and the chimney corner, as
Grandfather Adam was before me. Brother Bonaccord of Outremer
they call me in religion, but ill-accord I am in temper, by reason of the
air of this accursed land, and a most tempestuous blood of my own. For
why! I go to the Dominicans of Wanmouth, supplicating that I am new
landed, and have no convent to my name and establishment in the
Church. They take me in. Ha! they do that. Look now. 'A sop of bread
and wine,' I cry, 'for the love of God.' It is a Catholic food, very
comfortable for the stomach. Ha! they give me beer. Beer? Wet death! I
am by now as gouty as a cardinal, and my eye is inflamed. I think of
the Lucchese--those shafts of joy miscalled women--when I should be

thinking of my profession. I am ready as ever to admit two vows, but
Saint Paul himself cannot reconcile me to the third. Beer, my friend,
beer."
"You will do well enough, friar, if you are going the forest road. You
will find no Lucchesan ladies thereabouts."
"I am none so sure, gentleman. There were tales told at the Wanmouth
hostel. Do you know anything of a very holy place in these parts, the
Abbey of Saint Giles of the Thorn? Black monks, my brother; black as
your stallion."
"I think they are white monks," said Prosper, "Bernardines."
"I spoke of the colour of their deeds, young sir," answered Brother
Bonaccord.
"I know as little of them as of any monks in Christendom, friar,"
Prosper said. "But I have seen the Abbot and spoken with him. Richard
Dieudonné is his name, well friended by the Countess."
"He is well friended by many ladies, some of account, and some of
none at all, by what I hear," said the friar, rather dryly for such a
twinkling spirit.
"Ah, with ladies," Prosper put in, "you have me again; for I know less
of them than of monks, save that both have petticoats. Your pardon,
brother."
"Not a bit, not a bit, brother again," replied the friar. "I admit the
hindrance; and could tell you of the advantages if I had the mind. But
as to the ladies, suffer me to predict that you will know more of them
before you have done."
"I think not," said Prosper. Brother Bonaccord began to laugh.
"They will give you no peace yet awhile," said he. "And let me tell you
this, from a man who knows what he is talking about, that if you think

to escape them by neglecting them, you are going the devil's way to
work. If you wish them to let you alone, speak them fair, drop easily to
your knee, be a hand-kisser, a cushion-disposer, a goer on your toes.
They will think you a lover and shrug you away. Never do a woman a
service as if to oblige her; do it as if to oblige yourself. Then she will
believe you her slave. Then you are safe. That is your game, brother."
"You have studied ladies, friar?"
"Ah, ah! I have indeed. They are a wondrous fair book. I know no other.
Why should I?"
"Oh, why indeed?" Prosper assented. "For my part, I find other studies
more engrossing."
With such talk they went until they reached a little wood, and then
disposed of themselves for the night. When Prosper woke next morning
the good man had gone. He had left a written message to the effect that,
petticoats or none, he had stolen a march on steel, and might be looked
for at Malbank.
"I wonder how much stuff for his mind that student of ladies will win at
Malbank," laughed Prosper to himself, little knowing, indeed.
CHAPTER II
MORGRAUNT, AND A DEAD KNIGHT
Leaving the high road on his right hand, Prosper